Faithful as My Boswell
by Etaleah
Summary: When Holmes encounters a puppy in need of a home, he can't bring himself to leave it behind. Unfortunately for Watson, this means he now has to share his best friend.


When it comes to my friend and fellow lodger Mr. Sherlock Holmes, it would seem that the universe finds no greater pleasure than proving me wrong about him. Many a day I will believe I know him completely and know what to expect and am then shown to be utterly incorrect. The most recent occasion was in the spring of 1894, which, though it did not provide us with many interesting problems for which Holmes has become famous for solving, did make a marked difference in our lives.

I was on my way home from a day of doctoring patient after patient, and was looking forward to a quiet evening with just the two of us. Holmes, I felt certain, would allow for this. Though he was in the habit of playing his violin at unsuitable hours, he could always tell when I was tired and was perfectly willing to stop if I asked him, which I rarely did since I enjoyed his playing. Otherwise that logic-minded man would read, smoke a pipe, or work on one of his experiments while I relaxed and enjoyed the peace. Already I was smiling in anticipation as I neared Baker Street. It was the end of a marvelous spring day, with the weather finally warming and the sun deciding to make one of its rare appearances.

The heel of my boot had just come down on the top stair when I heard it. A giggle. It was so unlike anything I expected to hear that I dashed up the stairs and nearly flung the door open in my curiosity. I could not believe my eyes.

Holmes, the man who spent his every waking moment training his mind toward the singular focuses of science and deduction, was curled up on the sofa and giggling, with what appeared to be a brown and white spotted puppy licking his face. The latter was so small it couldn't have been more than a few weeks old.

"What on earth?" I hardly knew what was more surprising: the sudden appearance of a dog in our flat or that Holmes was laughing and playing with it.

"Ah, Watson!" Holmes acknowledged me cheerfully, tilting his head back so his mouth could avoid that persistent pink tongue. "I'm glad to see you home. Please, come and meet our newest lodger." He took the pup into his hands—which was a tricky task, as the thing was still wriggling and wagging its tail—and sat up, holding the animal out to me with an eager smile.

"Begging your pardon, our what now?" Perhaps I should take this moment to state for the record that I have no aversion to dogs nor any reason to dislike them. In fact, I find them quite admirable companions and have even been the proud owner of a now long-departed bull pup in my time. However, I was more than a little annoyed that Holmes should make such a decision about _our_ rooms without first consulting me. And if I am to be perfectly honest, were I to purchase a pet, this pup would not have been my first choice. I say so partly because it was so young and would most definitely require training, and partly because it did not seem like the sort of breed that would grow up to be of much use. This dog was no hunter, and no Toby the bloodhound either. That fact made me wonder why on earth my friend had any interest.

Holmes must have deduced some of my reluctance, because his smile wavered and he looked down to stroke the pup's head, which was still moving as it tried to lick his hand. "I suppose I should explain. You remember how I needed to visit the library for the information necessary to complete my monograph? Well, because it is such a lovely day outside and I knew you weren't due back for some time, I decided to take a longer route on my return. That led me into a secluded patch of woods, and it was there that I came across a tattered old box. And inside that box was our friend here." He nodded at the puppy, who was beginning to take an interest in me now that I had gotten closer.

"And you decided to adopt him impulsively?" I asked (for now I could see clearly that the dog was male). In all the time I'd known him, the number of times I had witnessed Holmes do anything impulsively could be counted on one hand, if indeed it could be counted at all.

"Dear Watson," he said, handing his charge to me. I took him and sat down. Now it was my turn to fend off a bath from that eager tongue. "From the stench and ungodly condition of the box, it was obvious it once contained a whole litter of young pups. Probably as many as nine of them, and they had been there for hours, possibly a whole day. He was the last of them all, and he appeared to know it, for I have never seen an animal or human act so desperately as him when I happened to stroll by. Whining at the highest pitch, tail darting fast enough to fly off, and he struggled so valiantly to get out of that box that he overturned it, at which point he cut off my path and jumped at my legs like a beggar. There was clearly no owner, not one who still cared at any rate. How, I ask you, could I _not_ bring him home?"

I saw his point. The dog appeared to still be in the mindset of a beggar, as he was beginning to whine now. "Still," I insisted. "You might have come to me first and asked my opinion. We could have gone back and brought him home together."

He shook his head. "The thought did cross my mind, but I swear to you, Watson, this little fellow was a shadow I could not shake. I've had criminals hell-bent on murder who did not follow so closely." He put a hand on my knee. "I am sorry to spring this on you, my chap. But surely," he said, nodding to the pup, "He'll be a most loyal companion."

I nearly laughed at how both Holmes and the dog looked as though they were pleading with me. How was it possible that I had suddenly become the den mother? "What does Mrs. Hudson say?"

"She's not yet aware," Holmes said, and I could tell that he was as wary about that fact as I was. Our landlady tolerated a great deal, but even she had her limits. "My dear Watson, since you have been forced to suffer the inconvenience of being surprised at meeting the dog, I thought perhaps I'd make it up to you by allowing you to decide what to name him?"

"Why, thank you," I said, truly touched at the gesture. The pup looked up at me with the widest eyes I've ever seen, as if awaiting his fate. I deliberated for a minute before saying, "Carter."

The pup perked up and Holmes scratched his ears. "Pray, what made you decide that?"

"I confess it was because he came from a box. I believe I recall you telling me once that Carter is the French word for it?"

"Indeed it is." Later on, I would hear him mutter, "I suppose if Watson had a child, he would name the poor thing 'Womb.'" For now, however, he was good enough to grin and nod while holding out his arms. "Carter it is. And what a fine little fellow you are!" He held Carter close to his chest and stroked his fur with so much tenderness in his hands and smile that I still had trouble believing this entire matter was not a dream of mine.

I yawned, remembering that I had come home in hopes of rest. "I beg you both excuse me, I am exhausted and plan to retire early." I stood up and stretched. To my annoyance, Holmes hadn't looked up.

"Very well, Watson. Good night, and thank you kindly for your assistance and cooperation."

"Of course, of course," I muttered, feeling sleep start to overtake me already. As I climbed the stairs to my room, I told myself that keeping this dog was perfectly fine. After all, Carter wouldn't be a puppy forever. Eventually he would grow up, the newness of him would wear off, and Holmes would begin to ignore him as he so often did with me.

* * *

As I have previously stated, I am often wrong in my presumptions regarding Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I must confess I soon grew to detest that dog. It is a shameful truth to admit, as Carter was never anything but friendly to me and never objected to my presence as I did his. In fact, he often twitched his tail and lifted his head when he saw me enter.

Despite this nicety, however, it was difficult to form much of a bond with him when he was so much more interested in Holmes than myself. It was him Carter followed everywhere and sat next to and curled up in the lap of. When the two of us returned after a day out, Carter rushed to overwhelm Holmes with affection, eyes bright and tail flying and paws slipping and sliding all over the floor in his haste to reach him. It was only when Holmes finally stopped fawning over him and disappeared into another room that Carter would turn to me, as if I were merely an afterthought or a second-rate substitute. Whether this was because Holmes had been the one to rescue and take him in and therefore in his eyes I was just another human or because he sensed my occasional disdain of him I cannot say. Perhaps it was both.

Whatever the reason, Carter made his preferences quite clear, and Holmes was irritatingly eager to indulge him. He always made room on his lap, in his arms, or on whatever piece of furniture he happened to be occupying at the moment. After a short feud over the matter, Mrs. Hudson agreed to let Carter stay on the condition that she not be required to care for him, and as such, Holmes was constantly engaged in some task related to Carter's well-being.

"Won't you join me for tea, Holmes?" I'd ask with morning paper in hand.

"Apologies, but I must give Carter his morning brush."

"Holmes, I am going to smoke a pipe by the fire. Wouldn't you like one too?"

"Not right now, Watson. I have to attend to Carter's dinner."

"Has any intriguing problem come your way, Holmes?"

"I wouldn't know, as I haven't gone through my mail yet. First our eager friend here needs a walk," he'd say with a smile as those four little legs took off through the front door, yanking Holmes so hard he'd momentarily lurch forward while struggling to retain his grip on the leash.

On the third week of our ownership, I said bitterly, "I remember when it was me who accompanied you on your daily strolls." Holmes appeared to be somewhat regretful about this and attempted to rectify it by inviting me to join the two of them, but it was simply the same problem in a different place. Now instead of us engaging in conversation or simply enjoying each other's silent company, it was all about ensuring Carter did not chase another animal, that he did not eat something he shouldn't, that he not bother the passersby with his constant cries for attention and petting, that he relieve himself, and that he not become distracted and wander off. I never accompanied them again.

One night I was sure that infernal nuisance was going to be put in his place. We finally had a case that Holmes was intensely focused on; he'd been working for hours and I could tell he was getting frustrated. He was hunched over his microscope and magnifying glass in his dressing gown, muttering to himself and grinding his teeth. On such occasions, I knew to stay far away and not disturb him except in an emergency, but Carter had no such knowledge. He possessed a makeshift toy that Mrs. Hudson had stitched together out of old stockings and other fabric to keep him from chewing the furniture, and it was this that he laid at Holmes's feet while the latter was deeply engrossed in his task. He whined and nudged his master's legs, and you could practically hear the _Play with me, Master! Play with me!_ in his voice and see it in his bright eyes.

I looked over from the armchair, not bothering to conceal my smirk. Mrs. Hudson and I had each interrupted Holmes once and only once when he was this deep into his efforts, and neither one of us was ever foolish enough to make that mistake again. I watched with the eagerness my brother and I had each displayed as children whenever the other was about to be punished.

"Not now, Carter," Holmes said. That phrase had not yet become a part of the pup's vocabulary, and thus he whined louder.

"No," Holmes said more sternly. Now that is a word every dog understands. Carter's countenance became so pitiful that I almost felt sorry for him, but then he looked to me and I quickly feigned an absorbance in my book. The only time I could recall Holmes using that word with our dog was when he attempted to make a meal out of the contents of our rubbish bin. Now Carter waited only a few seconds before letting out a long, loud howl fit to wake the dead.

Holmes responded with something between a growl and a sigh, and I held my book higher to try and conceal my grin. _Now he's going to get it._ He might receive more of Holmes's attention and affection, but there was no way he would get away with disturbing his work.

The slam of the pen on the desk made us both jump a little. Carter gave a short wag while leaning back, as if wasn't sure whether to be happy his master was finally paying attention to him or nervous that he was no longer being friendly. Holmes stood, crossed his arms, and glared down at his dog, who was beginning to look a little scared.

"Hours of intense study and still no closer to an answer!" he said with surprising fierceness. Then he heaved another sigh. A minute passed before he spoke again, but when he did his voice was much lighter. "I suppose it would do me good to take a break and return once my mind is fresh and my head clear. Very well, my dear, go on and pick up your toy!"

Carter wasted no time in doing exactly that and presenting the toy to his master, who was kneeling and stroking him with warmth in his demeanor. In contrast, I was observing this scene with nothing less than utter disbelief upon my face. Holmes noticed and, of course, commented on it.

"Close your mouth, Watson, otherwise a fly might decide to make a home of it."

"You—you—him—but he just…"

Holmes chuckled. "My normally so articulate Boswell is suddenly at a loss for words?"

"It's not fair!" I shouted childishly, jumping out of my seat. My book collided with the carpet and split open. I gestured to Carter. "Holmes, what is this? Mrs. Hudson or I interrupt you and we receive your unbridled rage and wrath, whereas if he interrupts you, you drop everything you're doing and give him exactly what he wants."

Holmes cocked an eyebrow and picked Carter up, straightening so he no longer needed to look up at me. "Watson, I'm surprised at you. Surely you have the wits to know that a four-month-old puppy cannot be held to the same standards as grown men and women?"

"Only because you never discipline him," I said, my anger building. "You should have taken a paper to that dog, or at least put him outside. That is how they learn. You're spoiling him, Holmes."

He held Carter more protectively and I wanted to roll my eyes. It wasn't like I was going to strike him. "And why should you care how he's disciplined? You rarely pay him any mind."

"Perhaps because he spends all of his time with you instead. You're always doing _something_ with him. Between his feeding, grooming, walking, and playing, you rarely even have time to eat with me."

Slowly, so slowly I thought I might be imagining it at first, a smirk crept across Holmes's face. "You're jealous," he said with slight smugness.

"I am not!" I protested with flared nostrils.

He nodded. "Oh yes, you are. You're envious of Carter because you believe I now value his companionship more than yours. But I assure you, dear Watson, that is far from true."

 _Could have fooled me,_ I thought. "See here. I would never be jealous of a _dog_ that will never be of any use to you in casework and who can't even distinguish a pile of papers from a pile of pillows—"

"For Heaven's sake, Watson, that was one time! You know he hasn't faulted in his toilet training since."

I cared not. "Do what you will with Carter. I am henceforth washing my hands of him." And thus I continued my childish behavior by stomping up the stairs to my room and slamming the door. My bed creaked from how hard I threw myself onto it, sulking and crossing my arms. Faintly I could hear Carter whimpering downstairs; he likely sensed that his owners were unhappy with one another. Even more faintly was Holmes whispering soothing words to him. I covered my ears with the pillow and stayed this way for the rest of that sleepless night.

* * *

The next morning both Holmes and Carter were gone. I can't say I was terribly sorry about that and enjoyed the peace of not having an energetic puppy scampering about the place and begging for breakfast. An hour with the morning paper and a stroll in the spring sun had me feeling much better, and when I returned to my home in the mid-afternoon, I was in much brighter spirits and actually looking forward to seeing the little fellow again. These quickly dampened, however, when I saw that Holmes was sitting in his favorite chair with Carter in his lap, his face longer and more melancholic than I had ever seen it. Even more puzzling was that all of the pup's paraphernalia was packed close by.

"Watson," Holmes greeted me with barely a nod as I entered. "You're just in time to say goodbye."

For a second my face drained of color. "Holmes, you are not leaving—"

"Not me, Watson. Carter is leaving. I have found a family on the outskirts of London who have agreed to take him in. The man of the house has worked with animals for many years and will no doubt take excellent care of him."

His dejected expression that refused to meet me and Carter's complete innocence of the situation served to drive a stake right through my heart. Holmes's tone was not an angry one, but I could gather from the slow stroke of his hand on Carter's back that he was heartbroken to be parting with the pup.

"Holmes," I said as I stood next to them and stroked that soft furry head. "I apologize for my rash behavior last night. It was uncalled for and undeserved. And truly, I did not mean that I wished for you to get rid of Carter. I know how much the two of you care for each other."

Holmes shook his head. "I had already been making inquiries before last night, but your outburst caused me to hasten them today. Despite your willingness to tolerate it, it was obvious neither you nor Mrs. Hudson was happy about keeping a dog. And I have begun to take an interest in a case which may take me away from London for some time. Naturally I could not leave Carter alone for that long, and it would have been dreadfully unfair of me to attempt to saddle you with him. And truth be told, this whole arrangement has been unfair from the start. You put up with enough of my oddities already."

I could think of nothing to say to that other than that his oddities actually fascinated me. And after all Holmes had done for me...now I was truly remorseful. My fingers curled around Carter's soft ears, trying to memorize the shape and sense of them. All those weeks I had wished him gone, and now I didn't want him to leave. As I had this thought, another occurred to me.

"Holmes," I said. "Were you spending so many hours with Carter because…"

He nodded, and his eyes flickered with sorrow. "I suppose I should have been clearer from the start that I was unsure whether we could successfully keep him forever. But I had no way of knowing my inquiries would lead to anything, and I confess I was not very persistent in them because a part of me did not want them to succeed. He has been a dear friend to me, as you have." He shocked me then by kissing the top of Carter's head, and I placed my hand on top of his.

"But must you part with him?" He looked up at me in surprise. "I have been selfish, but I can assure you that will no longer be the case. If having a pup around our rooms makes you happy, then by God, I shall adapt. We can take him with us on our adventures if necessary."

Holmes treated me to one of his rare, beautiful smiles. "Thank you for saying so, Watson, but I have decided this is for the best. Your actions last night only confirmed what I already knew to be true: two bachelors devoted to their careers are not the ideal owners for a growing puppy."

I could never recall feeling like more of a brute. "Is there no way I may make it up to you?"

"Certainly. Carter's owner has promised that we may visit him any time we like, and I in turn have promised him that should he ever need to go away on business or holiday, you and I will be happy to care for Carter in his absence."

That brightened the situation up considerably. "I would be honored to abide by those terms."

Holmes smiled wider. "Then in that case, let us make ready to drop him off now." He handed Carter to me as he stood up and stretched. I held the warm little body close as he licked my face one last time.

"I hope he remembers us," I remarked, setting him down to attach his leash.

"Of course he will," Holmes said as he opened the door. "His loyalty is what drew me to him in the first place, just as it drew me to you. Carter is every bit as faithful as my Boswell."


End file.
